


First Blood

by Ser_Charlemagne



Series: Portraits [1]
Category: World of Warcraft
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-07
Updated: 2019-01-07
Packaged: 2019-10-05 22:05:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 727
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17333213
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ser_Charlemagne/pseuds/Ser_Charlemagne
Summary: A drabble about the first time Khadgar ever killed someone.





	First Blood

**Author's Note:**

> This was written as a challenge. Someone challenged me to write a drabble about this topic.

The smell of brimstone and blood. The gasp of breath against his skin, the way fabric and flesh gave way so easily beneath the point of a sword. The weight of his body against his, the last whispered words of a man freed from hellish bonds before the power within him destroyed his earthly remains.

_I fought him as long as I could._

It would have been easier if he hadn’t bled. Only by a fraction, but it would have…it would have…

Khadgar stared at his hands as he dropped the blade, the last fragments of magic and power having left the tower in a rush. He could feel his body tremble, weakened and exhausted, the aged digits stained in blood. Untrained hands holding a blade, determined to end this at all costs – he did not regret what he had to do, but…

Blood. _His_ blood. 

He felt numb. Distantly, he could feel the presence of Anduin Lothar nearing him – speaking to him? He must have replied but he couldn’t recall what it was that he had said. He was staring at the floor – at his feet, stone scorched from felfire, all that remained of a great, tragic man. A scrap of fabric, a skull, a bit of bone…so little. 

_So very little._

Quietly, Khadgar went to his knees, the joints stiff and aching with each movement. The sapping had nearly killed him, withered him to almost nothing – but still he summoned the strength for this. He reached out, fingertips brushing the worn remains of black and red silk – the fraying edge of fine embroidery burned at the edge. He felt a lump welling up in his throat – he forced it down. Not here – not here. He closed his eyes, jaw set, hands shaking. 

_I wanted to save you. To the bitter end, I had hoped…I had wanted…I never wanted to…_

He didn’t recall gathering his remains. He didn’t recall gathering Moroes and Cook, nor did he remember digging their graves. He recalled so little of those hours, until he found himself standing before three plots, dirty and even more exhausted, silvery hair whipping about in the lonely wind. The world seemed to have lost its color, the Pass suddenly devoid of all life and spirit. Khadgar took a breath then – the first in what felt like ages. His jaw set, he closed his eyes bitterly. He felt…hollow. Exhausted of life and vitality, a shell of himself. When he had first arrived here, he had never imagined that it would end like this…

“…You must have been planning this for ages,” he said quietly. “…I was the one who succeeded, I was the one who…discovered everything you had set out…the way to defeat Him. To end your…suffering. You knew, from the moment in the forest, that I would be the one. And yet you still…you still-!” He trembled, gritting his teeth. “You still…invited the notion that there might be a future – that this wouldn’t – _I never asked for this!_ ”

His voice echoed in the granite cliffs that nestled the tower in their stony embrace. In the distance, he heard a single raven’s call – as if beckoning to him from elsewhere. He sucked in a sharp breath, his chest and throat aching. 

“I want to hate you…damn it, Medivh, it would make this so much easier if I could – you used me to end his hold on you – you used me. You were so inviting, you groomed me for this task! I practically poured my heart out to you, and you already knew what I was going to have to do - How much of what you said could I tru-“ 

The words died on his lips. 

_Trust._

Khadgar closed his eyes, his shoulders sank. Tension left him, and he let out a soft breath. 

_I don’t know what trust even means any longer._

Once more, he looked at his hands – stained with dirt, with the blood of the man he called friend, mentor – whom he loved. For a moment, he felt that presence again, near the tower – he took a breath and looked up, over the wall of the bailey – and stared.

A vision? It couldn’t be…but the tower was a strange place. He stared the ghostly image down.

“…I can see you now, you know.”


End file.
